


Cigarettes and Ash

by gracedameron



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Brooklyn Higgins-Conlon, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, I literally only have an explicit language tag for Spot Conlon's big mouth smh, Jack Kelly also makes an appearance, Kelly Kids, M/M, Smoking, Underage Smoking, dads being dads, this is gay, this is very dramatic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedameron/pseuds/gracedameron
Summary: Race tries to quit smoking, repeatedly. Spot helps.





	Cigarettes and Ash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritingToKeepMySanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingToKeepMySanity/gifts).



> I wrote this as a just-because-you-made-me-think-of-the-headcanons present for Disney <3 ily bb.
> 
> this is set in her Kelly Kids universe, where Spot and Race adopt Brooklyn when she's a little older, getting her from foster care! :)
> 
> it's been a hot minute since i've posted anything!

*

Racetrack Higgins was a professional at covering up the smell of cigarette smoke. He started smoking at fifteen. It started as a harmless dare. 

_ Come on Anthony, just try one! It’s fun!  _

_ What, are you chicken? _

Race was anything but chicken. 

Just a dare turned into a bad habit extremely quickly. Race found out that smoking calmed him down. It helped him keep his head. He didn’t get upset when he was smoking. He’d bum cigarettes from friends in high school. He’d buy them from the seniors, who sold them to the sophomores and juniors. He built up a stash in his room that his mother never found. 

He learned how to come home without smelling like smoke. He learned how to hide it from his parents and siblings. He learned how to keep his bad habit private. 

And then he didn’t need it anymore. He was happy and content in college, he didn’t need to smoke. When he got stressed he’d chew the cigarettes to calm him down, but never lit one up.

Until he had to. Until he was too close to breaking down, and needed something to take the edge off. 

But Race got better. He didn’t need to smoke. He didn’t even need to chew nicotine gum or try traditional quitting methods. He just didn’t need it anymore, so he stopped. Until every once in a while he needed it again. 

It stopped being so hidden. His boyfriend noticed  _ everything _ . He noticed if Race came home smelling vaguely like cigarettes. He noticed if he disappeared for too long when out with friends, or came back with freshly brushed teeth and fresh cologne. Spot Conlon was incredibly observant and refused to let Race get away with it. 

Race knew Spot’s concern was genuine and not judgemental, but when Race was stressed enough to smoke, it meant he was too stressed to think straight, and his brain equated Spot’s worry to Hide It From Him. 

Race didn’t  _ want _ to hide his habit from his boyfriend. But he kept convincing himself that it wasn’t a big deal, it was only once in a while, and it was never bad enough that he couldn’t stop when he had to. It was a tiny bad habit that he kept  _ mostly _ hidden, but once in a while, Spot would catch on. They’d have the same argument over and over, often with months going between the spats. 

_ “You’re lying to me! That’s why’m upset!”  _

_ “I’m not lying, I just ain’t tellin’ ya everything!”  _

_ “Same thing!”  _

_ “It ain’t none of your business, I ain’t hurtin’ anyone!”  _

_ “You’re hurting  _ yourself _ ya moron. What do ya think smokin’ does to your lungs?” _

_ “Please. It ain’t a big deal.”  _

_ “It is! Race!” _

_ “Like you ain’t never smoked a cigarette b’fore. Don’t lecture me, Sean.”  _

_ “Tony I swear to God, I’s done a lot worse than smoked cigarettes but I’m smart ‘nough to know I ain’t gonna let it kill me.”  _

_ “One fuckin’ cigarette ain’t gonna kill no one!”  _

_ “It ain’t one! This happens all the time!”  _

_ “I can make my own decisions, thank ya very much.”  _

_ “Ya own  _ mistakes, _ yeah.” _

After a few fights like that, Spot realized that smoking meant Race was freaking out. The fights would then get less angry and more concerned. 

_ “You smell like smoke.”  _

_ “No I don’t.” _

_ “Are you okay?”  _

_ “‘m fine.”  _

_ “You’re not. If ya were, ya wouldn’t be smokin’.”  _

_ “Leave it, Spot. ‘m fine, nothin’s the matter.”  _

_ “Don’t lie ta me.”  _

_ “One cigarette don’t mean nothin’! It’s whatever, just leave it alone.”  _

_ “I know you betta’ than that. Now tell me what’s wrong.”  _

Spot was persistent enough that he could usually get it out of Race before too long. He’d help, make him feel better, reassure him, help him stress less, so he’d smoke less. They’d both forget about the habit until it showed up again, and they’d repeat the cycle of talking through it and moving on. After a while, Spot went from being Race’s boyfriend to being his husband, and the cycles became routines, and the habits would be forgotten, remembered, argued about, talked through, and forgotten again. 

“Are you getting sick?” Spot asked his husband with concern, hearing Race cough from the other room.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Race insisted, pulling on his shirt on and walking back into his and Spot’s bedroom. “It’s this damn cold weather.” 

“Yeah.” Spot nodded. “Have tea or somethin’ ‘stead’a coffee this mornin’.” 

Race stuck his tongue out at his husband. “An’ die from exhaustion? I don’t think so.” 

Spot smirked, crossing the room to Race and pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “Good luck at your audition today.” 

“Thanks, babe.” Race kissed him back. “I’ll letcha know how it goes.” 

Spot nodded. “You betta’.” 

They kissed again, parting so Race could cough into his elbow. He groaned a little. 

“Ain’t got time for a cough,” He muttered, letting go of Spot so he could start gathering his things. 

“You gonna be okay ta audition like that?” Spot asked, and Race shrugged. 

“I’s auditioned in worse shape ‘n this.” 

Spot smirked. That was true. Race had one of the best auditions of his career that landed him a National tour while severely hungover. 

“‘m a profess’nal, Spotty. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” He pecked a kiss to Spot’s forehead, clearing his throat as another cough threatened, and went into the kitchen to grab something to eat on the subway. 

“Break a leg,” Spot told him as he handed Race a travel mug of coffee. “That was metaphor’cal. Don’t actually break nothin’.” 

Race rolled his eyes playfully, coughing again, and then taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Break all the bones in m’ body. Got it.” He winked, pulling on his coat and blowing Spot a kiss before he headed out the door. 

Race started down the block to the subway station, coughing into his elbow again before pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. 

_ “Don’t actually break nothin’” _

_ How about promises? _

As always, Race figured out how to beat his habit on his own. He ignored that his cough got more persistent, worse when he would stop smoking, and vengefully terrible when he’d start up again. Spot noticed, insisting he go to the doctor, but Race refused. 

_ “It’s allergies.”  _

_ “It’s the weather.” _

_ “I’m fighting a cold.” _

_ “I’m takin’ care’a it, Spot.”  _

Spot’s concern grew into suspicion, but he didn’t pry, wanting to be able to take his husband at his word. 

“You look tired.” Spot commented one night, when Race got back late. “You didn’t call after ya audition. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Race said, clearing his throat. “‘m agent added two more auditions to my block today. I didn’t have time ta call. ‘m sorry.” 

Spot shook his head. “Three in one day?” 

“Yeah. Lotta mat’rial I wasn’t prepped for.” Race sighed, running a hand through his blonde curls, and Spot smirked a little as they stood up at odd angles. 

Spot narrowed his eyes as Race walked past him into their kitchen. 

“You’re wearing cologne.” 

“I was sweating all day, Spot.” 

“A lot of it.” 

“Yeah?” Race sniffed his shirt. “Do you not like it?” 

“I like it. I bought it for you.” Spot commented. He watched Race start to reheat leftovers and frowned a little as Race coughed into his elbow. “Didja ever go to the doctor?” Spot asked next and Race shook his head, clearing his throat. 

“Nah, don’t need ta.” 

“Maybe ya should, just in case.” Spot said, gently putting a hand on Race’s shoulder to get him to look at him. “You’s had that cough for what, a few months?”

Race shrugged. “Nah, can’t be that long. Don’ worry ‘bout it, Spotty.” 

Spot hesitated, watching Race’s hands twitch a little. 

“You okay?”

“Great.” Race shrugged Spot’s hand away and went back to his food, taking it from the microwave and sitting on the counter to eat. Spot watched him.

“Are you smokin’ again?” Spot asked softly and Race groaned a little, taking a bite of the leftover lo-mein and rolling his eyes. 

“Spot…” Race groaned. 

“Be honest!” Spot insisted. “Are ya smokin’ again?” 

Race knew he wasn’t going to get out of this, sliding off the kitchen counter, lo-mein forgotten. 

“Why can’tcha just leave me be on this one? I know how ta handle it, Spot.” 

“So you is.” Spot said flatly. 

“ _ One time _ .” 

“Racer, it never stays  _ one time _ . That’d explain the coughin’,” Spot insisted, “And why ya won’t go get it checked!” 

Race swallowed a cough, shaking his head. “It ain’t a big deal! It’s just to calm down! How many times do we gotta have this con-” Race interrupted himself, coughing hard. Spot’s anger dissipated and he put a hand on Race’s back. 

“You okay?” 

Race cleared his throat. “Fine.” He glanced at Spot, expression softening as he noted the concern in his husband’s expression. 

“What?” Race asked, slightly exasperated, “What is it?” 

“It’s gonna catch up wit’ ya,” Spot said quietly. “You’s had this cough for what? Two months? That’s so long, Race.” 

Race softened a little. “I’s just fine. ‘m young, it’ll be okay.”

Spot frowned, taking one of Race’s hands in his. “You need ya lungs, moron. You wanna keep ya Broadway career ya gotta be able to sing an’ dance.” 

Race nodded, looking away. Spot pulled him closer, wrapping his hands around Race’s waist. 

“I know it,” Race said softly. “‘m sorry. I needta find better ways ta destress.” 

“Yeah, ya do.” Spot agreed. “I wantcha to stick around, not get eaten up by lung cancer at 30.” 

Race snorted a little. “‘kay Mr. Doom an’ Gloom, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

Spot nodded, kissing Race’s jaw. “Good. I’d kill you if ya died.” 

Race smirked, kissing Spot’s lips. “Ain’t no one dyin’.” He cleared his throat a little. “I’ll....you’re right Spotty. I need ‘m lungs for work. I can quit. I’ll figure somethin’ else ta do when I’m stressed.”

Spot kissed Race again. “Good. An’ if you want me to, I can help ya.” 

Race nodded, “Okay.” he agreed. He kissed his husband again, harder. 

Spot smirked as he parted the kiss. “Go brush your teeth ‘fore you keep kissin’ me.” 

Race laughed, rolling his eyes a little, going back to his dinner. “After I eat. I’s been dancin’ all day.” 

“Smart, smart.” Spot said with a nod, “Carb load now, so we’s can burn a bunch’a calories t’night.” 

Race snorted, raising his eyebrows hopefully. “Oh yeah?” 

Spot shrugged. “Finish eatin’.” 

Race grinned and quickly went back to his food.

After that Race quit. He did. It wasn’t  _ easy _ and he’d slip up occasionally, but this time he was honest with Spot about it, and let him hold him accountable. His cough got better, soon it went away, and he used other, less harmful, tactics to help him cope with stress. He tried electronic cigarettes but hated them ( _ not the real thing, who wants to smoke cotton candy shit anyway? _ ) so he tried nicotine gum, which was a good temporary fix. As always, as time passed, it was forgotten. 

But this time, even Race forgot. Their lives changed, in the best possible way, and smoking was the last thing on his brain. He was a dad now, he didn’t have time to resort to his juvenile coping habits. When Race brought up the subject of kids to his husband, he didn’t really expect him to say  _ yes. _ Never in a million years did he think that he and Spot would be getting licenses to become foster parents, nor that they’d meet Brooklyn, the most perfect little girl in the world. 

Both Spot and Race knew the second they met Brooklyn that she was theirs. She’d been living with them for several months before they’d been allowed to start the adoption process, but kept hitting snares in the adoption process. They didn’t tell Brooklyn that though, because she was already worried enough that they didn’t  _ actually _ want her, which was the furthest thing from the truth. 

Spot pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt as he got out of his car and walked up to the Kellys’ house front door, using his key to let himself in.

“Where’s my Princess?” Spot called as he entered and grinned as Brooklyn tore down the hall, Lucy Kelly following, both girls tackling him in hugs. Spot smirked as he lifted each little girl in his arms, starting into the Kelly’s kitchen, where he found Jack working on homework with his boys. 

“Ay Jackie, how’s it goin’?” Spot asked, setting the girls down on the couch in the family room, making them both giggle as they hopped off and scrambled away. “Hiya boys.” Jack’s boys Pete and Corey both waved at their uncle, Jack pointing at their homework. 

“Keep goin’, no distractions from Uncle Sean.” Jack insisted. “Luce! Ya gotta finish those worksheets, pumpkin! C’mon!” Jack called, but the giggly girls were already gone down the hall to the playroom. Jack sighed, handing Spot three worksheets with Brooklyn’s surprisingly neat handwriting on them. “ _ One _ of ‘em finished their homework.” Jack said, “An’ everyone ate snacks an’ those two  _ goofballs _ ,” Jack called, making the girls giggle down the hall, “Have been playin’ all afternoon.”

Spot smirked. “Busy day for Mr. Dad?” 

“Always.” Jack sighed. “An’ how was your day, Mr. Conlon?” 

Spot rolled up the sleeves of his work shirt. “Nah, I stopped bein’ Mr. Conlon the second I stepped outta that stuffy office. Long day. Too many cases.” He sighed a little. “Had’a meetin’ wit’ our adoption lawyer an’ it didn’t go the way we wanted.” 

“Yeah,” Jack nodded, “Race looked stressed when he dropped B off.” 

Spot sighed a little, nodding. “Yeah, I ain’t s’prised. It’ll be fine, just gonna take longa’ than we ‘xpected.” 

Jack frowned. “‘m real sorry, Spot. That’s frustratin’.” 

Spot nodded. “It’s fine.” he smirked. “I’ll wrangle the girls. Thanks for everythin’ as always, Jackie.” he started down the hall and leaned in the doorway of the Kelly kids’ playroom, smiling at Lucy and Brooklyn playing with a mixture of blocks, little toy army men, racecars, and Barbie dolls. 

“Havin’ fun, girlies?” Spot asked, and Brooklyn grinned as she looked up. 

“You wanna play too, Daddy?” she asked, and Spot smiled. 

“I’d love ta, Princess, but we really oughta be headin’ back home. Ya can play wit’ Lucy tomorrow after school.” 

Lucy pouted a little, grabbing Brooklyn’s arm. “Do we gotta leave?” Brooklyn asked, “Five more minutes?”

“No more minutes,” Spot said gently, “You’ll have lotsa time ta play tomorrow, I promise. Me an’ Papa gotta go to a meetin’, so you an’ Lucy get to play all the way til’ dinnertime.” 

Brooklyn grinned at her best friend, and Lucy squeaked. 

“You mean it, Uncle Sean??” she asked, and Spot nodded. 

“You bet.” Spot winked at his niece. 

Lucy threw her arms around Brooklyn, the two little girls squeezing each other tightly, squealing with excitement until Spot gestured for Brooklyn to follow him. She did, waving one more goodbye to Lucy, promising they’d finish their game tomorrow, and grabbed her backpack from her spot at the Kellys kitchen table and took Spot’s hand in hers as they went outside to his car. 

“So,” Spot said as he started the car, glancing at his little girl in her booster seat in his mirror. “How was your day, baby?” 

Brooklyn grinned, showing off her missing tooth. “Fun! We did a science ‘xperiment  t’day...an’ I saw Pete at recess!! He let me play wit’ his big kid friends!” 

“Well that was real nice of ‘im,” Spot said with a smile, “I like that.” 

“It was fun!! An’ then me an’ Lucy got to eat lunch together an’ I found the note you an’ Papa wrote me!!” she beamed. 

“Didja?” Spot smiled at her in the mirror. “Good. I’m glad.” 

“An’ Papa brought me a lollipop an’ he let me eat it on the subway!” Brooklyn giggled. “It was sooooo busy t’day so’s I hadta sit on his lap!” she giggled more. “He smelled funny!” 

Spot made a face at her in the mirror. He loved how talkative she’d been getting, when he and Race first got Brooklyn she’d been shy and quiet and very slow to trust them. He didn’t blame her, it took him years to trust people after being in foster care. He was glad to see Brooklyn laughing and smiling and talking with her cousins and her dads and just being a  _ kid _ . That’s all he wanted for her, to be a happy-go-lucky kid.

“He smelled funny?” Spot teased, “You’re so silly.” 

“He  _ did _ !” Brooklyn insisted, “It was so funny, Daddy.” 

“What’d he smell like? Stinky feet from the dance studio?” Spot asked, and Brooklyn broke into another fit of giggles.

“Noooo.” she giggled again, making Spot smirk a little. “He smelled like…like….” she shrugged a little, “He smelled like Aunt Katherine’s candle!” 

“Like a candle?” Spot shook his head in amusement. “Like cookies or somethin’?”

“Nonono,” Brooklyn thought for a second. “When Aunt Katherine blows the candles out so me an’ Lucy don’t knock it over an’ it’s stinky!” 

Spot frowned a little. “Smoke?” 

Brooklyn nodded. “Smoke!!” 

Spot gave Brooklyn a glance in the mirror before putting his eyes back on the road. “Papa smelled like smoke?” 

Brooklyn giggled again. “Yeah!” 

Spot forced himself to smile at her in the mirror. “You’re a silly one, Miss Brooklyn. What else happened at school today?” 

Brooklyn rattled on about school and recess and playing with her cousins after school, but Spot was only half listening as he drove them back to their apartment. He was going to be having some choice words with his husband when he got home. 

Spot waited until Brooklyn was in bed to confront Race. It wasn’t long before it escalated. They tried to keep it quiet, keeping in mind that Brooklyn was sleeping in the other room and they shouldn’t be waking her up with a fight. 

“I thought we were  _ past this _ , Race! What the hell?” 

“I slipped up!” Race defended quickly, “It happens, Spot, I’ve been so good!” 

“Yeah, you’s been  _ so good _ . What the hell were ya thinkin’? You can’t smoke ‘round her. Are you shittin’ me? If it ain’t hard enough to get the court ta let us keep her.” 

“How would  _ one fuckin’ cigarette  _ fuck up the entire adoption?” Race hissed. 

“Who knows?” Spot snapped, “They’s pretty damn determined ta keep that kid in foster care, so they’d find any fuckin’ excuse. Next time they interview her an’ she says you picked her up from school smellin’ like smoke?? You wanna know what happens next Anthony? She ain’t ours anymore,  _ that’s _ what.” 

“Oh please.” Race rolled his eyes. “Know how many parents smoke ‘round their kids?? I’d  _ never _ light a cigarette anywhere  _ near _ her, Sean. You know that. Don’t try’n make me the bad guy for fallin’ off the wagon  _ once _ .” 

“Once.” Spot muttered.

“Yeah, once.” Race insisted, shoving Spot’s shoulder a little. “Like you ain’t never done nothin’ bad. Gimme a break.”

“I ain’t done  _ nothin’ _ ‘round Brooklyn. An’ I wouldn’t dream’a it.”

“Yeah, an’ neither’ve I. Ain’t doin’ nothin’ anywhere near her.” Race insisted. “I’m pissed you’d think I’d be that irresponsible. For God’s sake, I ain’t even smoked in  _ years _ .”

“So why t’day? Huh?” Spot asked, shoulders tensing as he grew more frustrated. 

“You know why! Cuz them assholes in CPS don’t wanna let us keep her. An’....” Race groaned, pacing away from Spot and sitting down on the edge of their bed. “I snapped. ‘m sorry.” he spat.

“Whatever.” Spot tossed the comforter of his side of the bed open, sitting opposite of his husband. He sighed, glancing at their half-opened bedroom door and looking down the hallway to Brooklyn’s room.

“I’m so sick’a havin’ this fight wit’ you, Anthony.” Spot said after a minute, his tone more defeated. “You gotta fig’re this out on ya own. I’s been fightin’ this wit’ ya since  _ college _ .” 

“I know it.” Race muttered, face in his hands, still facing away from Spot. “I know.” 

“I dunno why ‘m so disappointed.” Spot muttered next. “I shouldn’t be surprised or nothin’.”

Race felt his heart sinking, angry tears filling his eyes as he stood, crossing his arms. “I don’t need this t’night, Sean.” he said warningly. “I feel shitty enough, you don’t gotta make it worse.” 

“Ya think I don’t feel shitty? Grow up an’ deal wit’ it.” Spot snapped. 

“You’re an asshole.” Race shot back.

“Yeah,” Spot rolled his eyes. “Back atcha.” 

Race frowned. “I...I’m  _ tryin’ _ Sean. I didn’t even mean for it ta happen t’day. I ain’t felt that close to losin’ it in  _ years  _ as I did t’day. I didn’t know what else ta do.” 

“Not smoke?”

“It just  _ happened _ .” 

“No shit.” Spot shook his head. 

Race groaned in frustration. “It ain’t gonna happen again.” 

“Yeah? What if somethin’ else goes wrong? Next time shit gets tough ya gonna start it up again?” Spot stood too, meeting Race’s eyes. “It ain’t just you an’ me no more, Tony. You’ve got that kiddo countin’ on you. We ain’t messin’ ‘round no more.” 

“I ain’t messin’ ‘round.” Race insisted. “It was a mistake.” 

“Damn right it was.” 

“It ain’t gonna happen again.” 

“You sure?” 

Race nodded. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ ta mess things up wit’ Brooklyn. I’d never forgive m’self.” 

Spot nodded too. “Good.” He sighed, “‘m sorry for snappin’ atcha. I just...I just want this to work. An’ I don’t wanna see ya destroyin’ ya body in the process.”

Race shook his head. “I won’t.” he insisted. “Promise.” 

“Aight, good.” Spot took Race’s hands in his. “Forgive me?” 

Race nodded. “It’s aight. You’s upset too. An’ I handled this wrong.” 

“Yeah. It’s okay. No more slip-ups, yeah? 

“Yeah.”

“Just...call me next time. I wanna help.” 

Race nodded again, squeezing Spot’s hands in his. “Okay. I can do that.”

“We’ll be okay.” Spot told him, pressing Race’s hands to his lips and kissing his knuckles.

“Okay.” Race squeezed Spot’s hands in his and pulled his husband in for a hug. 

“Ya ain’t mad at me?” Race asked when they parted, and Spot shook his head. 

“Not mad. But if ya do it again, I’ll be pissed. Ya gotta take this serious, Race. It ain’t just me. Brooklyn needs ya ‘round. She’s countin’ on us. Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I’d do anythin’ for her, ya know that.” 

Spot nodded. He did know that. He’d do the same. 

“Good. So you’s gonna quit?” 

Race nodded, going over to his dance bag in the corner of their room and digging through it for the pack of cigarettes, handing it to Spot, who tossed them into the garbage can in the corner. 

“Done. No more.” Race said with finality, “I’m done.”

Spot smiled a little, pulling Race down to meet his lips in a kiss. “‘m glad,” he said as they parted, getting into bed together. “Love ya.” 

Race smiled. “I love ya too.” He flicked off the light and got comfortable in Spot’s arms, ready to go to sleep, the heated argument already fading from his memory. 

This time, he quit for good. And when he forgot about smoking again, it was forgotten for good. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> one of these days I'll write more than just angst for these boys. thank you for reading!! i'd love to hear your thoughts, feel free to yell at me in the comments or on tumblr (@gracetrack-higgins) anytime! :)


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